Chapter 13—Day Four: Trophies and Music

"Too heavy?"

Ivette looked up from the oversized trophy in her grasp and Cian found himself staring into hollow empty eyes.

Her hazel eyes lacked brightness and in its stead, there was only fatigue and resignation. She blinked once, eyes flipping over him swiftly and she raised a lean shoulder before dropping it. "I'm sure yours is heavier."

Indeed, his trophy had been a large monstrous thing and had had no small pleasure handing it over to Rosalind with the nastiest grin on his face.

However, that hadn't mattered.

He had been watching the lass all afternoon. Not that she had noticed. That was the problem. She hadn't noticed his gaze on her as she'd collected the trophy from the lady presenter.

He couldn't tell what was wrong with her and it disturbed him more than he wanted it to.

"Heading back so quickly?" he asked, tipping his head toward the door from which music flitted out.

She shrugged. "Dancing is exhausting."

He was thinking the same thing, but he had no burning idea what he was saying. His lips just kept moving and he just...he just wanted to talk to her—and hear her speak in return.

That, in itself, was another problem.

She was talking to him.

The last time they had spoken, the lass had dunked him with wine. Even the laundry services couldn't get the stain off his customized shirt. Rosalind had said she would get him another but Cian had refused.

It was the silliest thing he had done, but he had kept the shirt, and it was worth more to him than the trophy that sat in his car.

She had made it clear that she didn't want to speak to him. And she'd stood him up. It was more rejections than he had received in his life—he had never been rejected by a woman before. They always wanted more of him. They couldn't resist him. They had said as much.

But Ivette King was different.

And maybe it was why he couldn't stay away from her.

She was a puzzle he needed to solve. He had tried, and he had failed. Horribly so.

She was unpredictable. She was fire. She was gods damned intelligent.

And she didn't want him.

Hell, if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd seen in a lass.

He hardened in his tux pants and he stiffened, shifting uncomfortably. That kept happening every time he was around her. He couldn't control his body or his thoughts anymore. They wholly belonged to her.

And she didn't know it.

"The classics require less effort. Only that you move with the rhythm, and let go," he said, hoping she wouldn't hear the husk and desperation in his voice.

Her gaze rose to his and his gut clenched. She had a way of staring at him that stripped him bare before her. He'd never felt so vulnerable with anyone else. He'd never held his breath, waiting upon a lass's reply like his very life was attached to the next words that might leave her lips.

"Let go?" she asked, and he didn't miss the break in her voice.

Every thought fled from him at the sound of her featherlight voice and he spoke without thinking. Without considering what it meant. What letting go meant. "Yes, lass."

Her eyes softened—a little.

He wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching them so intently.

But they shifted behind him and turned cold as ice. "No."

The lass might have as well stabbed him in the chest, ripped out the knife and stabbed him again. He cocked his head slightly to see what had caused the sudden change, ignoring the painful pang in his chest.

Aaron Maxwell stood several feet away, smiling at Devy Boucher, owner of the famous DB Makeup Line sheepishly, even as his eyes remained on Ivette and Cian.

"He seems to be having fun. You should too," he murmured, eyes snagging on her cheek. "Are you hurt?"

Her eyes widened and the trophy slipped from her fingers. He lunged, catching it before it could crash into the ground. Her fingers trembled beneath his and they were so cold...so cold Cian wanted to leave his hands atop hers just to lend them his warmth.

She withdrew her hands from his, obviously shaken, and Cian didn't understand why.

"Thanks. Ex—"

"Ivette," Cian cut in, leaning forward and the lass flinched, jerking away before he could speak.

"Stay away from me," was all she said before sauntering away, headed toward the sound of the music.

Cian followed.

****

Ivette set down the trophy and let out a long breath. She had gone from aloofness to feeling hot all over. He’d noticed. She had plastered enough makeup on her face to cover the purplish stain on her cheekbone, but he had still noticed.

And she didn’t need someone fawning over her and telling her the things she should be doing to Aaron for hitting her, but she couldn’t afford to do. They had been together for eight years. He had never motioned to raise a hand to her before. She could let it go. This once. She could forgive it.

Standing way back, away from the crowd, Ivette watched the hall sway to the music. The Night We Met was being performed by a female in a dark dress and as much as Ivette loved the original version of the song, she found herself humming to it. The woman had a powerful voice and the entire hall was entranced by her voice and the lyrics that fell off her red lips. The Viennese Waltz was the perfect dance and everyone seemed to be doing it with their partners.

Ivette felt lonely.

It wasn’t like she fancied dancing much—and it wasn’t that she didn’t fancy it either. She had rarely had the time for it and she had been dating Aaron for most of her adulthood. There had been no need for the dates or dances or flowers or breakfast in bed. . .or whatever men did during the Chase.

She could give the excuse that they had been too busy with work and the companies but she had always secretly craved those things. A cup of tea on a cold day, a bouquet of flowers on a dull day, a movie date on a weekend, a ski date in December, an unplanned coffee or dance date, a kiss to the forehead on a bad day—she wanted them.

But Ivette had been in a comfortable space for longer than she could remember and asking for these things would have been a tad unusual. Maybe even a little immature.

Goosebumps attacked Ivette’s skin as the song grew even more intense and she stared at her foot.

“Dance with me.”

Ivette jumped, nearly dropping the trophy.

She whirled and barked at Cian. “Don’t fucking do that again. Are you stalking me?”

He grinned. “Do you want me to?”

“Moron,” she muttered under her breath, cursing the day she had met Cian MacGregor. He had made his intentions with her very clear, so it was hard to understand why he kept following her everywhere.

She motioned to leave but he grabbed her forearm, pulling her back with a firm grip. His hands were as warm as she remembered them to be and she resisted the shudder that rose to the surface at the feel of them again.

Her eyes darted to the crowd beyond in search of Aaron but he spoke before she could conclude her search, halting her. “You are your own woman. You do not need his permission to dance if you wish to.”

His words had hit too close to home. Since when did she seek validation from anyone before she acted? “Fuck off,” Ivette said, pulling at his hold. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“You must not have had a swear jar in your home. You utter such vile words,” he said and let her arm go. He dusted an invisible speck of dust from his midnight blue tux jacket that hugged his frame perfectly. Her eyes drooped to the loosened buttons at the top of his chest and she averted her gaze immediately.

“Why do you keep following me?” She asked as she tried to catch her breath.

“Would you have me tail another lass?”

“I do not give a bloody damn if you tail other ‘lasses’,” she seethed, putting emphasis on the stupid word that made her heart race every time they left his lips in that tempting brogue of his. “Leave me alone, Cian. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking touch me. Your plans to ruin my life and my engagement by seducing me have amounted to nothing. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. I’m off your menu.”

And heavens save her, the man smiled, revealing white even teeth and a tiny cleft in his perfectly cut that she hadn’t quite noticed before. Ivette’s brain melted like butter on a saucepan. Her heart raced and her mouth suddenly dried. She was mesmerized and unapologetically attracted to this beautiful, sexual man.

He was not pretty like Aaron.

His face was savagely beautiful. Saying he was handsome felt like an insult.

Under the soft blue light of the hall, his skin took a pale hue, a total contrast from his usual golden skin. Dark lashes caressed his cheeks as he blinked, watching her underneath them with hooded brown eyes. He was every woman’s erotic fantasy and she had had a night to attest to the fact that he was nothing compared to a silly erotic dream.

Every curve of his body, every dark feature breathed man and world-shattering sex.

Her core heated and her lips dipped to those firm and sensuous lips.

No one should look like that. Lips should be banned. Scottish men should be banned.

“Who says I’m done seducing you?” He purred and she felt the sound all the way to her core. Her toes curled in her stilettos and she was grateful for the dim lighting of the hall that hid the redness of her cheeks.

Shaken, she tucked a loose curl behind her ear with a shaky hand. “I suggest you use your charms on someone else. You’re wasting your time.”

When he shot her a rather cocky grin, she dropped her gaze, pretending to be more interested in the figurine on the trophy’s head. The mini statue of a businesswoman was surely not as sexy as that smile.

“You find me charming, lass?”

She scowled. “Oh get over yourself.”

“It is but one dance that I seek.”

“I’ll pass on that.”

“Please.”

Ivette’s eyes rose at the plea and something about it cleaved her defenses in half, creating a large enough hole for him to creep into. Again. She bit on her lower lip nervously and caught herself unconsciously searching to see if Aaron was present.

Warm fingers slid around hers, catching her trembling fingers and Ivette froze, meeting his glittering gaze. “One dance, lass, and I may not bother you again.”

Ivette thought about it for all of three seconds before she discarded the trophy by the wall and took his waiting arm.